Trans Pontem
by Noel Cassidy
Summary: He fell, like those before him, yet he did not die. Stranded in a different dimension, he has to make his own path.


Aaaand she's back! Hello! It's been, like, forever since I posted anything, but inspiration has struck again. This will hopefully be the first in a long list of stories and one-shots which revolve around the concept that Dick Grayson is dropped into the Marvel Universe, but proceeds to be a significant figure anyway (because he's Dick freakin' Grayson. Seriously, the multi-verse is in love with him). If you don't recognize some of the characters, don't worry about it; not all of them are from DC or Marvel, but they probably won't pop up a lot.

In other news, I own neither Marvel nor DC, but if I ever found out I did, I'd probably die out of sheer glee. Daniel, Eddie's Diner and it's employees, Eileen, Mai, Jess and Keane, however, do belong to me . Oh, and my multi-verse theory (which also belongs partially to Chimaera Chameleon) which is touched on. I apologize if anyone is offended at my horrible portrayal of New York. I really suck at research. Alfred has promised chocolate chip cookies to the people who can spot the comic reference which is neither Marvel nor DC. ;P

Thanks to Chimaera Chameleon for beta-ing this for me and picking it apart, and to the people who I kept telling it was coming and who never complained (you know who you are!).

Enjoy!

* * *

He was so confused.

_"Kid? You okay?"_

Where was he?

_His young partner had stopped. "The directive,"_

What...what had happened?

_"What?"_

The world was...wrong.

_"The directive," He whispered in a disturbing monotone. "The directive takes precedence."_

Was it spinning? ...Or was he falling?

_He barely avoided the knife that swiped toward him._

Why would he be falling?

_He dodged another strike._

His parents fell too, he remembered; he'd watched them.

_"Daniel, snap out of it!"_

Would anyone watch his fall?

_The knife lay discarded on the street, the blade stained black in the dim light._

He sort of hoped not; his family had witnessed so much tragedy already...

_Who's blood was it, his or the kid's?_

So he was falling alone; only fitting, as he was the last of his bloodline to fly.

_"Daniel, why?" He asked, almost begged; he wanted to know what had driven the young man, so full of potential, to do this._

He should fight he thought dimly; he didn't really want to die, but he was just so tired...

_"The directive takes precedence."_

He...he was ready to rest...

T_h_e l_i_g_h_t _s_w_a_l_l_o_w_e_d_ h_i_m.

* * *

Are you awake?

Not..sure. What...am I,...dead?

No, you are not.

Wait! M-my family! I've got to-

Your family is safe.

Oh. Where am I?

You are outside a dimension similar to the one you were born in.

Can I...can you...send me home?

...No. I am sorry, but I cannot.

Oh... What should I do, then?

What you have always done: protect others, though perhaps not exactly as you are used to. ...Are you ready?

...Yes.

Take this; it will be of use to you I think.

* * *

Ow.

The young man gradually woke up. He was lying down, he thought, the surface beneath him hard and uneven. A dull ache permeated his whole body, almost as if he'd run a marathon and collapsed afterwards.

Blue eyes cracked open. He was indeed lying down, cheek pressed onto the cold asphalt. Tiredly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, instinctively noting his surroundings.

He was sitting in an alley between two private businesses with apartments stacked above them. Old metal thrash cans and dumpsters lined the walkway at regular intervals. Feeling slightly chagrined, he realized he was sitting with his back against a metal dumpster, the cold metal sucking out body heat through his T-shirt.

Glancing down in confusion, his mind momentarily projected a black body suit and gloves, accented with dark blue wings going up to his shoulders and joining with a matching sigil on his back into a stripe going down his arms, coloring two fingers on similar black gloves. It was replaced with a pair of blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and tennis shoes. He shook his head, running his hands through short black hair.

What the heck was wrong with him?

Slow down, think. A voice, a deep soothing, masculine baritone stepped in before he began hyperventilating. What's the last thing you remember ?

A flurry of images assaulted his brain: a teenager coming at him with a knife, a light that swallowed everything, a feeling of weightlessness but still having weight, an unfamiliar paternal voice telling him to...to protect and...take...something.

Involuntarily, his eyes opened and cast about for...something out of place that he hadn't noticed before. A small blue lump caught his eye. Unzipping the backpack, he pulled the contents out, laying them around him.

A grey hooded jacket (which was immediately put on). A laptop. Passport. Driver's license. Change of clothes. A wad of cash (worth a couple hundred in assorted small bills).

He glanced over the license. Then frowned, rereading the birth and expiration date.

April 16, 1988. August 2008.

Opening the laptop, he turned it on, waiting impatiently for it to power up while trying to wrestle down a feeling of dread that was slowly creeping up on him. He glanced at the date in the lower right hand corner of the screen.

6:35 A.M. August 23, 2006.

Then he noticed his reflection.

It was...young. Too young.

He was...wasn't...eighteen. He_ remembered_ living almost thirty year. This...was just... He'd been de-aged. He took a deep breath, calming himself. Okay, nothing too bad. He could do this.

His stomach took advantage of his confusion to loudly remind him of its existance.

_"Seriously, you've been up all night staring at case files. You need to eat something."_

_"Like you're one to talk!"_

_"Young masters, if you'd both come up to the kitchen for lunch, you can continue your argument there."_

_"Yes, Alfred."_

Pushing himself up, he returned everything to the backpack and wandered down the street, hands in pockets, looking for somewhere he could get something to eat.

* * *

Eddie's Diner had a bit of a reputation in New York. Opened by Edward Gabriels back in 1923 just before the twenties really started to roar, the diner had been used as a soup kitchen during the Great Depression and had been run by the womenfolk during both World Wars without once going out of business or declaring bankruptcy. While it never became a franchise, it did a good bit of business, especially since it was right down the street from the police station that served the East Williamsburg/Bushwick/Ridgewood area of Brooklyn and Queens. Officers pulling early or late shifts would often swing by for an early breakfast (or a late dinner, depending on the person).

It was one of those old soda-fountain type diners, with an antique, shiny, chrome-colored bar, barstools solidly fixed to the ground with red vinyl cushions on top, matching booths by the street-side windows and similar chairs and tables between. Between the police officers and the college students, the Gabriels managed to turn over a tidy profit. The diner had been passed down from Edward Gabriels to his son, Curt, whose stroke had forced him take over the managerial aspect and let his son, Benjamin (then twenty-five with a bachelors in business and a minor in cooking) take over in the kitchen. Ben's wife Nellie (who he'd married back in '91) had stepped into the business with dignity in '78 at age sixteen and hadn't left since.

Nellie was the only waitress in the diner that morning while Ben was in the kitchen. As he was busy prepping the utensils and mixing up a few ingredients, she turned on the sign up front, checked the tables and readied the cash register for the normal morning rush when the door opened with a cheery ring.

She dropped off the menu to the young man in the back booth. He was an older teen. Dark blue T-shirt and jeans, tennis shoes, a hooded jacket and a dark blue backpack. He was pretty easy on the eyes too. He ordered coffee and a house omelet and ate a bit mechanically. It was a mark of pride for Nellie that she knew the names of every customer that had passed through the diner, so when she was checking him out at the register, she said, "I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"

He blinked. "Di—ah, Richard," He smiled slightly. "Richard Grayson,"

* * *

Eileen sat on a bench across the street from Eddie's, watching Richard move off down the street, stopping in front of an army recruitment building, looking at it for a moment before seemingly making up his mind about something and going inside.

"Good luck," She murmured as she stood up, tucking dark blonde strands behind her ear while glancing down the street the other way to see a dark haired man walking toward her. "Keane!" She called, waving.

"Eileen." He paused to give her a smooch before they began walking down the street and he asked, "So?"

"I think he might join the army."

"Seriously?"

"Well, he doesn't have a ton of resources."

"I guess. So how did he look?"

"He seemed a bit...overwhelmed, but he should adjust, given time."

Keane tossed a look towards the army recruitment station. "I hope so."

She elbowed him lightly. "C'mon, he's bounced back from worse, remember?"

"But his family-"

"Isn't dead, and he knows it. Besides, he won't be alone long."

He looked at her sharply. "You're not going to-"

"No, I'm not. But the barrier between the two dimensions is weaker, so they might come over themselves. They'll try, at least."

"Speaking of, did you find Daniel?"

"Yeah, I found him: NT-A-2.039. Splinter and his boys are looking after him for now. I'm going to pick him up later, give him the choice."

"Ah," He smiled. "I hope he joins us. His bridges are...incredibly strong. I had a hard time even slowing a journey on one. "

She gave a wry smile. "I noticed. They're a bit weak in areas, but he hasn't had any training in that aspect, so it's only to be expected."

Keane looked at her for a long moment. "You sure you can't send Grayson back?"

Eileen nodded. "Yeah. I took a long look at the readings Mai and Jessica compiled. It would require an insane amount of energy- we're talking septillion-joules - and it'd be far too easy for something to go wrong. It's about a one in a trillion chance, and I'm not going to risk anyone's life on those odds, let alone the life or sanity of a dimensional keystone."

He nodded. "I hear you. There won't be any backlash from this though?"

"Not much of one. The two dimensions might merge or they might simply regain equilibrium. I've told the In-U's to keep their eyes open, and our people are monitoring it as well. If it starts getting bad, I'll step in." She paused for a moment before looking over at him. "You've never had a fresh New York bagel, have you?"

"I admit I have not."

She shook her head in mock pity. "You poor, deprived man. There's a bakery a few streets over. Makes the best bagels in this part of Brooklyn."

"Lead on."


End file.
